This had gone much better than she could ever have envisaged. She hadn’t known that Paul had it in him to be so violent. Maybe he wasn’t the wet blanket that she’d come to believe he was after all. She had to admit she felt a grudging respect for what he had just done, in the face of her betrayal.
But it was his own stupid fault for trusting her, given that the original plan was to get rid of him on the mountain.
Lydia and Matthew were looking at her carefully. She’d said nothing since the attack, lost in her own spinning thoughts.
‘Are you OK, Cat?’ Lydia said, eventually. ‘Can we get you anything?’
‘Maybe just some water.’
Matthew left the room and Lydia continued to stare at her, as if unsure of how to deal with this.
‘You’re safe now, Cat.’ She turned away and started to pick up the papers that were strewn across the floor.
After a few minutes, the door opened and Matthew returned, a paper cup of water in his hand. Pigalle followed close behind.
‘I am very sorry, madame,’ Pigalle said. He bent down and flipped the table up the right way again, pushing it back against the wall. ‘It was my idea to talk to you both together. Now I understand why you wanted to stay away from him.’
Cat pushed her chair in closer to the table then lifted the cup of water, taking a sip.
‘Your husband will not be upsetting you again,’ Pigalle continued. ‘My lieutenant will make sure of that.’
Cat coughed and took another small sip of water. Her throat hurt, but it would ease.
‘Perhaps we can continue now?’ Pigalle’s voice was gentle. ‘There are still a few things we need to understand.’
‘You’ve seen what he’s like now. But I suppose he’ll continue to deny what he did to Ginny.’
Pigalle shrugged. ‘He said earlier that it was you who pushed your sister.’
Her voice was sharper than intended. ‘And why would I do that?’
Lydia tilted her head to the side slightly, reached for Cat’s hand across the table. ‘Try not to get upset, Cat. It’s what we’d expect him to say, under the circumstances . . .’
‘We don’t know the full story yet, though,’ Pigalle said, pressing himself back into his seat and crossing his arms. ‘I feel like something is missing. Like what happened to your other friend, Tristan.’
Cat looked away. ‘Tristan fell.’ She started picking at her cuticles.
‘Go on . . .’ Pigalle urged.
‘When I say “fell” . . . this was also down to Paul. After Ginny. They fought. I thought . . . I thought they were both going over the edge at one point.’ She choked back tears. She hadn’t expected to cry so much, but she couldn’t help herself. But she had to try and pull herself together. There had been a moment up on the mountain, when Tristan had tripped on a tree root walking towards the shelter, where she’d thought she might end up there alone in the dark – and the thought of that still terrified her, even though she was back down here, in the daylight. Safe.
With Paul – back from the dead.
Whatever had happened up there . . . ending up on her own – having to make that descent alone . . . that had never been part of the plan. That fall she’d taken on the descent . . . if she’d been on her own . . . well, then the whole thing would’ve looked like a tragedy, with all four of them missing.
Maybe that would’ve been better. Easier, at least. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could carry on with her lies.
‘I’m very tired.’ She sat back in her chair, and for a moment she thought she might fall asleep. She’d had so many adrenaline peaks and troughs in the last thirty-six hours, it was a wonder she hadn’t had a heart attack.
‘You can sleep soon, madame,’ Pigalle said. ‘We just need to get all the information first, OK? Remember . . . you wanted us to look for your friends? We need to know where to start.’
Cat took in a fast breath, let it out slowly. She needed to stay calm. But she really didn’t want a search party going up there. Not yet. Not while she was still here. She had no idea how quickly they might find the bodies, but she wanted to be long gone before they did.
Surely they would let her leave soon? She wasn’t under arrest. They didn’t see her as a danger to anyone. Unlike Paul. She had to drive the final nail into his coffin. She was taking a risk with her next revelation, but she’d had hours to go through it all, making it work in her head. It would work. It had to.